


our love may still shine bright

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Paint, Multi, Nudity, Rebellionstuck AU, Tattoos, also feferi and karkat are pitch, listen they get eridan naked okay, they're being Good so they don't start any shit at the moment, tidalverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: O, none, unless this miracle have might,That in black ink my love may still shine bright.– Sonnet 65, William Shakespeare





	our love may still shine bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auxanges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auxanges/gifts).



> eridan has a fuckton of ink and gets quadmates to add to them thats literally it
> 
> see link for source  
> URL: http://perplexingly.tumblr.com/post/85325605975/a-give-away-gift-for-undevilbicho

the day you hit nine sweeps, you got the first one. compass rose, right between your shoulder blades. the troll you’d gone to was a genius at what he did, and once it healed over, you couldn’t help but steal glances at it every time you finished your daily ablutions.

(from the way fef seemed to stare whenever the two of you went swimming, she didn’t much mind either.)

 

your original plan had been one a sweep or so, mark the passing of time. seadwellers had so _many_ sweeps, though, and—well, never let it be said that you weren’t sentimental as all hell.

Sollux, your pitch—and he trusted you so fiercely that it nearly burned, but the lace patterned fractals spiraled easy over your shoulder, nothing like a burn, marks even Fef couldn’t (and wouldn’t) heal away.

(his fingertips traced over them, quiet days, ‘til he’d mapped them as well as your biolum.)

 

pale love came sharper, the cruelest quadrant, with all the brittle-break of an unexpected gift. Kar dropped diamonds in a chat, and you’d laid questions in the same, and _damn_ if he hadn’t taken an offense.

 _I thought we were_ already _pale, you finfaced ignoramus,_ he’d said, and the words had warmed you to sleep as much as he himself would.

as surprising at it might be, to any seadweller other than yourself, it turned out that outright rebellion was damn good for the quadrants, if nothing else. the stars of Karkat’s sign, written in the old style, constellation maps, settled nicely on your wrist.

(he grabs your hand, the first time he sees them—scowls, and demands to know who, where, and how to get _yours_.)

 

gods above and deeps below, though, Fef...you and Fef had been through hell and high water together, and you’d resigned yourself to whatever shared space there was left between the two of you.

and then someone had set a trap for her, oil slick spilling, like something out of your daymares after she’d been caught in the one meant for you, sweeps and sweeps back.

this time—oh, irony, oh, how the tides turned—you were the one caught in a trap meant for her.

and. and she saved you.

for all her fear of the oil, of the nets, she’d swum willingly into the trap it made for any unwary seadweller, dove straight into tainted water out of a horror story and cut you free. she brought you back—from near death, for once, not to life, it—some _ice_ in her seemed to shatter.

and as well as you knew her, it had come as a hell of a fuckin’ surprise when she kissed you.

(the sweeps and curls of her sign hid well amongst the curve of ocean waves, over your other shoulder and down your arm, and gods if it didn’t well suit the sign she’d carved over your heart herself.)

 

* * *

 

sweeps pass like the rain falls, and your markings grow in number. feather patterns here, at the end of the war, at Fef’s ascension to the throne, the shape of the _Caerulea_ there, your ancestor’s ship, for your twentieth—gods, the world had _changed_ , eleven sweeps from the first touch of ink to your skin.

 

* * *

 

The knock on your door came a sweep beyond that. By now, your quads had found markings of their own, lines to map out their stories proper, but–

Something about yours always seemed to draw them back.

 

“Twenty- _one_ sweeps, Ampora, and gods _damn_ if you don’t look a night over twelve,” Karkat says, dropping down into a chair with a bottle (or two) of something you recognize well. It tends to sit sweet on the tongue, and lead to bad choices—much like the kisses of your next quad through the door.

Feferi Peixes laughs, bright and shining, and carries a heavy box just as easily as she does. “Keep rubbing it in, guppy—just because _your_ final molt’s all sparkly special!”

True—the product of Kar’s molts had been nearly as impressive as your own—and he’d turned into a stocky brick of muscle over the course of several sweeps and a whole rebellion. Fef, who hadn’t made it much past five feet, was definitely jealous—of you, of him, but _mostly_ of–

“Ampora, fuck’s sake, stop blocking the door.” Sollux Captor. Six-four, wiry-lean muscle now that he was getting full-fed, and a persistently smug smirk on his face. The most powerful psionic in generations walks in with a cloud of static carrying several trays of food behind him. “We’re here for the party.”

You kick the door shut behind him with a frown, snagging the trays from his psi and setting them down on the nearest table. “Thought I said I didn’t want to celebrate.”

“Empress’s orders, Commander. You wouldn’t want any of your beloved quads facing a court martial, now would you?” Karkat’s got no fuckin’ right to look anywhere near that smug, and you groan, dropping down into the nearest chair.

“Fine then,” you say, and the eager-smug expressions that pulls up are more than enough to make you regret agreeing immediately. “...what’s the plan, though.”

Feferi sets the box down on the floor, and herself down on your lap. Your arms come up around her on automatic, and she rubs her jaw against yours, bumping your glasses as she scents you up. “Well...we were thinking, food, music, dancing—all here in your quarters, of course, wouldn’t expect you to _go_ anywhere—and _then_ we’d try to get you drunk enough to test out the stuff in that box.”

You steal a glance at the formerly inoffensive-seeming chest. It continues to sit there, much in the way Fef’s surprises usually _don’t_ , carved wood and silence. You glare at it. It does a fine impression of an old stump.

 

While you’d be more than happy to continue the staring match until one of you broke down (listen, if you wanted to have a shot or two of whiskey on your wriggling day by way of celebration, that’s your own coddamn business), Fef chooses that moment to kiss you _proper_ , while Sol takes command of your block’s speakers, and Kar occupies himself with pouring drinks. Traitors and heathens they are, the sorry lot of them.

Then Fef bites down on your lip, just hard enough to draw blood, and you nearly swoon as your fins fan out wide.

“Come on, Danny,” she murmurs, soft and sweet, half-soothing the hurt. “Only if you’re up for it. We really _do_ want you to have a good time.”

From the moment they walked in the door, you knew as well as they did that you’d cave to whatever outrageous demands they had. It doesn’t make your flushlove’s coaxings any less sweet, and you return the kiss, a hand tangled into her hair as you take full advantage of her pretty lips.

When you pull back, she makes a startled noise, bordering on needy—Fef’s used to _being_ the one to tease—and blinks up at you through her haze. “Fine then,” you repeat, as both Sol and Kar attempt to discreetly shift, in the hopes that you won’t notice that they were both staring, and that they _might_ be halfway to popping a wiggly. “Let’s party.”

 

* * *

 

Fef takes charge of the ambiance. Both Sol and Kar have known you long enough that your music tastes don’t surprise them so much—not even when Fef dims the lights and pulls up a playlist that wouldn’t be out of place in a psionic day club.

They _are_ surprised by the fact that you actually know how to dance to them, though, and it takes a second bottle of the wine, split four ways (apparently Kar brought more than two) to coax either one of them to join you. Fef’s been out on the floor the whole while, her curls tumbling loose as her body twists and moves against yours—predator grace you’ve seen many a time—and she smiles at someone over your shoulder when you lean in to tuck them back.

Warmth presses up behind you, and with a startled noise, you note the static-spark of psionics. From the way he’s moving, it’s a _slightly_ tipsy and _rather_ focused Sollux.

“Thought you didn’t usually like to dance, Captor,” you murmur, tipping your head back onto his shoulder.

He smirks, his hands running over your sides, gills, settling proper on your hips. You know he can’t dance for shit, but if it means his body to yours, you’re more than happy to let him pretend. “Can’t let you and FF have all the fun. Dubstep, though, still not over that. At least you’re not into glubstep, _gods_ that shit is _weird_.”

You brush a kiss over his jaw, ignoring Fef’s annoyed hiss at him, and nearly shiver as he returns it to your fin. Fef’s still pressed up against you, annoyance aside, and a glance at Kar confirms that he’s enjoying the sight. He’s curled up in one of your soft leather chairs. “So what’s the thing you heathens wanted me to try, hm? Am I still not yet drunk enough for you to tell me?”

He laughs, soft and low, much like something out of one of Kar’s romance novels, and it makes you shiver _proper_. “Nah. We’re just taking our time with you.”

That pulls a growl out of you, and another laugh from him, as he brushes sparks over your fins to distract you again. You melt, and the song shifts to something slower.

 

* * *

 

The third bottle finds you tucked up against Karkat, watching Sollux and Feferi as your moirail cards his hands through your hair, halfway to purring. You match his pleased little sounds, and lean up to rub your jaw against his, marking him up _properly_ with your scent after Fef nearly took it all off. “Tell me,” you insist, pressing closer, cold to warm, sprawled over his lap. “I wanna know what you guys have planned.”

“You’ve been asking since we got here,” he murmurs, wrapping a warm hand around the base of your horn. “Impatient.”

“Always,” you tell him, and he sighs, leaning to kiss your hair, moirail-proper.

“Fine then.” Karkat whistles, and your matesprit and kismesis look up, their expressions eager. You’re taken aback—usually, there’d be some flicker of annoyance at the interruption, but now… “His Highness the _Prince_ believes that he’s ready for our surprise.”

“Doubtful,” Sollux says, his hand still caught in Feferi’s hair, “but let’s give him what he wants anyway. Go easy on him, or something.”

You bare your fangs at him from Kar’s lap, and your moirail paps you firm enough to settle. Fef’s already across the floor and kneeling before the box they brought. She opens it with the reverence the two of you usually reserve for the deeps, and you find yourself leaning out of your comfy perch to sneak a look–

Vibrant colors light up old wood. Some have the soft-lit glow of biolum wetchalk, others look to be more like proper paints. It takes a moment for your thoughts to catch up to your body, and you’re next to Fef on the ground before you even realize you’ve moved.

“ _Deeps_ , Fef,” you murmur, your fingertips tracing the pots of jewel bright colors and metal tones, thoroughly entranced.

Her Imperial Radiance (may she live forever in all her glory) turns her head to kiss your fin, like old times, and you chirp. “Like them?”

Does she always _have_ to leave you speechless? You flick your fins in silent assent, then remember your other quads and follow it up with a nod.

“They’re for you.”

You blink, hand wrapped around a blue that’s nearly as deep as your sector of the sea. “What...what do you mean?” For sweeps, you’d played at soldiers, at royalty, trained yourself to speak soft and even. When you get thrown lie this, though, your Ws and Vs end up tempest-tossed and wwavvery.

And—forgiveness for faults being a grace and a gift aside—Kar’s hands are working on the buttons of your shirt. Just about _anyone_ would be distracted by that.

“For _you_ ,” Fef repeats, her voice bringing you back down to solid ground _almost_ as much as her hands as they start undoing your pants. You manage a flustered glub in reply, and glance up at—gods help you—Sollux Captor, as if he’ll offer you some sort of salvation.

Instead, he flicks his fingers, and the rest of the buttons and zips on your clothes come undone, and they slide right off of you, with all the care and grace of a master psionic’s power.

You’re impressed. Usually he shreds right through them.

“Let’s put it like this, ED,” he says, neatly folding your clothes with a few lazy gestures, and setting them down on your couch. “All the black ink tattoos? You’ve turned yourself into a canvas, and we’re going to take advantage.”

_Oh._

 

* * *

 

They let you keep your underwear on (for now), and spread you out on a soft rug. “Sit up for us,” Feferi tells you, her fingertips tracing the waves you’d chosen of her, and you obey easy, shifting up to give them better access. “The paints dry pretty well, but we’d hate to ruin them.”

Between the three of them, they divide up your markings. From the fluid way they move, each to their own place, Fef at one shoulder and Sol at the other, while Kar takes your wrist, you half wonder if they decided before they came. Words don’t pass between them, but you’re nearly certain they wouldn’t need them anyway.

 

Curling waves for your matesprit, as lively as the sea itself, and now she brings them to life proper. Her own symbol’s darkened to fuchsia pink, while the waves themselves shine brilliant, blue-green hues suited well to crowning the seas themselves. She takes the marks past the stark lines of your ink, up your throat—so careful of your gills—and down over your palm, curling around your fingers.

Your left side’s a little full, but Sollux and Karkat make do. Karkat takes your wrist, your forearm, your fingertips, and he makes you a galaxy there, swirling night skies and stars around the constellation of him you’ve made. He paints the heart of each star crimson and fades it out to gold as he goes, nearly drowning the entirety in blinding midnight blues.

Sollux keeps to the places you cannot properly see—but halfway through, he pulls a mirror before you, and it’s staggering. Some fractal branches start in red and dance through violet— _your_ violet—to end up in blue, while others spark at blue, and the heart of the design’s a violet so deep you think he pulled it straight from your veins. It’s his own power traced over the marks that make you his, and past them as well. He runs them up across your neck, your jaw, your cheek, turning your head as he needs you, before shifting around Karkat to paint your chest proper.

When the three of them finish their first selections, still silent in focus, you watch their fingertips dance over dried paint, as if they want to memorize these new additions to your body as well as they have the old.

  


You’re even more sure of their unspoken agreement when they shift around, Sollux to your left side again, and Karkat to your right. Feferi takes your back, and they coax you up onto your knees, and–

                                                                  –everything goes on pause.

 

Sollux claims the ship. Maybe the one your ancestor had wasn’t powered by a true helmscolumn, but gods, so many of them were.

_(he paints it in stormcloud greys, lightning golds, ropes and riggings and masts all, in stormcalled colors)_

Karkat takes the feathers. Each one is a reminder, a remembrance, the way all of you fought and fell in a rebellion that turned the empire like a spring tide calling.

_(the rememberings of a thousand birds fly like flowers of a hundred colors over your thigh, in a startling starling blue sky)_

Feferi has the compass. Even before she was yours, you were hers, and the both of you knew you’d meant it for her.

_(gold edging, blacks and whites, and she paints your North red like she’s guiding you back home)_

 

* * *

 

Long after they’ve fallen asleep in a pile of tangled limbs and loves on the floor, you’re awake and staring, wide-eyed.

The marks you’d made for them, to claims some piece of them as your own, to let yourself be claimed in turn, are blazing bright. They’ve painted past the original confining lines, traced their own variants of those claims, beyond the bounds of what you had thought they might want of you. They _want_ you, all of you, and you’ve never been more certain of that.

Those of your own design, the ones that marked the passing of time, events, things that stood out so well, they’re...amazing. For these, they stayed inside the lines, added colors and light to what you already had. They’ve illuminated you, inside and out, and as you twist and turn to see the mirror properly, you fall in love all over again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_she’s all bound up in life and the sea, one and the same in all but a name_

\---

 _once, once, once upon a time, these stars were irradiant treason, and now they_ shine

\---

_you have these marks, elsewhere and elsewise, but these are the ones of them you chose to ground you_

\---

_becoming your ancestor would be easy, becoming something else is the hardest war you’ll ever fight_

\---

_for all that angels are demons, they’re still freedom and duty all in one, flight and fear of failure to keep the promises you’ve made_

\---

_compass stars, guide me back home to you, safe harbours to hold me near._

**Author's Note:**

> auxanges is literally amazing and I love her and also I have no idea what happened with this so here you go
> 
> https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50646/sonnet-65-since-brass-nor-stone-nor-earth-nor-boundless-sea


End file.
